White Skull, Silver Claw
by Ammicus Prague
Summary: When the Punisher (Frank Castle) is framed for a crime that he didn't commit - one that the Wolverine (Logan Howlett) is heavily tied up in, the vengeance-driven X-Man makes it his mission to make Frank pay. However, once the two uncover the real mastermind behind Frank's set up, they must work together to defeat him. A 6-ish part miniseries (AV)
1. Prologue: A Furious Encounter

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters but the OC's that I make up.**

 **As it has been quite a while since I've ended my first Marvel story (The Rising Carnage), I've decided to set it in its own universe while this and any other Marvel stuff I do will be in the Ammi-Verse - my own personal Marvel Universe! Standalone from any current comics or anything. So if you want to know which stories are in the Ammi-Verse, just look for the (AV) stamp in the story description!**

 **Anywho, read on!**

 _A small closet_

 _In an apartment building,_

 _New York._

Frank Castle held his breath as if his life depended on it – which, truthfully, it did.

In his right hand was a pistol that had three rounds in it. In his left was a combat knife stained with blood, some of it his own. For most, that would be a handful by itself, but for him, he felt almost naked. Criminally underarmed. If he hadn't left his AR-15 behind…

A rage-filled yell sent a chill down his spine. It was beastly, almost inhuman, and Frank clutched his gun even tighter. Impossible…he can't still be alive….

"CASTLE! YOU SON OF A BITCH! GET OUT HERE!"

Frank didn't dare move. The closet he was hiding in was the only thing keeping him alive. If he stepped foot out of it, even an inch, he was sure to die. Holding the gun steady in front of him, he waited, listening intently. Footsteps stomped around outside, though they sounded distant. Hopefully they'd stay that way.

"CAAAAASTLEEEEE! YOU AREN'T GONNA HIDE FOR LONG!"

"We'll see about that," said Frank breathlessly. As he said this, his phone vibrated twice, and upon turning it on, he read the single text message on the screen:

ON MY WAY. HANG IN THERE.

"I CAN SMELL YOU, CASTLE! I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE! YOU'RE GONNA PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID!"

The sound of doors being kicked down startled him. He aimed the pistol at the closet door, hands trembling slightly, as the noise got closer and closer. The fury behind the kicks was distinguishable even from inside the closet; he could hear them splintering the doors as if they were paper.

KICK.

KICK.

KICK.

KICK –

The outside door clambered to the ground with a mighty conundrum of rattling. The person was snarling, breathing heavily, almost growling like a feral beast. Before he knew it the closet door was ripped off the hinges, and a dark form hurled him from inside and into the adjacent room. He landed on his stomach, and the impact knocked the wind out of him. Attempting to roll over, he was stopped by a combat boot coming down on his skull and pinning him in place. He was in a twisted, massively uncomfortable position – but he could finally see who it was that was after him.

The Wolverine. And he was well and truly in berserker mode.

"There you are. I'm gonna rip your heart out and make you eat it."

He raised his hands up, and with a _snikt_ sound, his infamous claws sprang from his knuckles like switchblades.

"Wait…" said Frank weakly. "It ain't like what you're sayin'…"

Wolverine snickered. "I saw what happened. You ain't weaselin' your way outta this one. Now - "

He stopped.

Frank blinked in surprise. Wolverine had turned to look out the sole window in the room, and he was just staring blankly, a bewildered expression on his face. All too soon, though, it turned to alarm as the window exploded into shards. He was blown back, all the way back into the hallway he'd torn up, and through the wall into the room across the way. A piteous growl of pain issued from the wreckage.

Frank sighed in relief, heaving himself up quickly. He had to get out of here, pronto. Hurrying over to the window, he was blinded by an extremely bright light – he couldn't see what it was, but he knew all too well.

His phone began to ring, and he answered it with a victorious grin on his face. "Fury."

"Come on, Frank. Jump. You'll land in here. Just hurry."

The light turned away from the window, and Frank saw a helicopter hovering incredibly close to the building. On the side door of the copter was the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo.

"Open the door then, Fury!" shouted Frank, stepping back from the window.

The copter door opened, revealing a grizzled, iron-gray haired man with a patch over his left eye. He clutched a machine pistol in his right hand with several attachments, gesturing for Frank to come on with his left. "Hurry! I'll take care of him."

Frank took a few more steps back, then started running with all his might. He leaped out of the window, arms outstretched, teeth gritted, fingers splayed, and –

And –

A single gunshot sounded as he flew right into the copter, and he didn't have time to flinch, and his body was on fire from colliding with the copter's interior, and Nick Fury was firing at something still in the apartment as the copter began to fly away. He closed the door, and as it slammed shut, he sank to the floor as well.

"That was a close one. Now, Castle…do you want to tell me what this was all about?"


	2. Part 1: The Trenchcoat Man

_A seedy bar,_

 _Mike's Grill & Chill,_

 _Hell's Kitchen._

Logan swallowed the last sip of his ninth beer, and to him, it felt just as flat as the fourth.

He'd been in the bar all night. The people around him – every single one – was having fun, with their significant other, or insignificant for all they cared. Good for them. They avoided him like the plague and he preferred it that way. Made things easier. The bartender knew him well – not for what he did best, but for what he filled his downtime with. The beer numbed him, made him feel nothing instead of irrational, blind rage…how the hell did Banner deal with this –

"Logan."

He saw the man walk up out of the corner of his eye, not bothering to look at him until he stood before him. What an odd man he was – wrapped in a trenchcoat and sporting a black fedora, he certainly was a sight to all the bar-goers. They laughed at him amongst themselves, pointing to him behind his back. He didn't see them. His eyes seemed to burn unnaturally bright from under his hat, though, and Logan's vision was blurred enough to obscure most of his other features.

"Logan," said the man again. "I need your help. Urgently."

"No," uttered Logan without hesitation.

"It's important – "

"Didn't you hear me?" Logan asked flippantly. "No. I'm busy."

The man simply laughed in disbelief. "Wow. Such is the legendary hospitality of the Canadian furball Wolverine, eh?"

Logan stopped, his drink halfway to his mouth. He placed it down gently, rising from his seat – and although he came up to the man's nose, he still possessed a very threatening aura.

"Now, you listen here, bub – " Logan brought his face to within an inch of the man's – "if you call me that again, I'm gonna mess you up. Now, if you'd like to take this outside, I'll gladly gut you out back."

This made the man chuckle in earnest. "How right you are! I did forget my manners. Come, then. Let's talk outside."

Logan slammed the bar door behind him as the man looked around. Behind the bar, cars zoomed past like bullets. Above them was a giant billboard with the Avengers plastered on it, all boasting merry smiles bar Hulk. "What do you want?"

"Please, call me Stanley." The man removed his hat, revealing a nondescript middle aged man in his thirties. "I'm well aware of the work you do, Mr. Logan, and I was wondering if you'd take requests."

"Requests?" Logan's laugh turned very quickly into a heavy cough. Clearing his throat (a hard task, considering), he continued. "I'm not a damn hitman."

Stanley nodded. "Yes. I know. But this matter is, uh…personal."

"How so?"

"Someone has done me wrong," Stanley explained agitatedly. "They've crossed a line. I need someone to take them out for me. He's an awful guy, I doubt you'd have any moral objectifications to it – "

Logan cut through the bull. "Who is he? What's his name?"

Stanley paused, thinking over his next words very carefully. "Let's just say, he's a self-righteous prick who needs to be put down. He gets off on giving people, ah…punishment."

The word made Logan step back. "Wait. You mean the Punisher? Frank Castle? The hell did he do this time?"

"He, uh…he killed a very close, ah…friend of mine," Stanley admitted. "Very close. He was like my brother. Name of Aaron Steinberg. Good guy, he was, no debts, no record, no mob connections…but the Punisher didn't care. He murdered him in cold blood in his living room in front of his eight year old son. Left the kid there by himself, they found him crying his eyes out the next morning. It was awful. Aaron helped me get out of a lot of stuff…he didn't deserve what he got. Like that mattered to _him_."

Logan stared at Stanley with a strange look in his eye. He'd tangled with Frank in the past, several times. Their fights had been brutal. He wasn't a big fan of his authoritarian methods, either. The history between the two was definitely present, and more than complicated. He wasn't exactly the type of person Logan had particular indication to spar with.

"Please," Stanley pleaded. He approached Logan with hands folded like a child in prayer. "You're all I can count on to end his destructive reign. Those – " he pointed to the billboard – "those fools up there wouldn't have the balls. Someone like Spider-Man or…or Daredevil, they're goody two shoes. But you – you have a history…"

"Yeah," Logan countered aggressively. "I have a history with Punisher, too. He ran me over with a steamroller, shotgunned my face off and blew off my balls. You think I don't wanna slit his throat? But if I did that, I'd be like him. A nutcase psychopath who doesn't belong anywhere near a gun. Killing him would only leave a path for others to fill. Plus…I have enough of a reputation, being a mutant and all. Frank Castle might be a pain in the ass, but he isn't _my_ pain in the ass." He turned to go back inside. "Sorry, bub, but you'd be better off getting Deadpool to do that."

Stanley watched him go with bared teeth and a look in his eye that was filled to the brim with danger. Turning back to the billboard, he began laughing hysterically to himself.

"You 'superheroes' are all the same. Self-appointed SAINTS! Well…I'm sick of this rampant abuse of authority. Those who misuse their power…best fear my wrath."


	3. Part 2: The Cell Phone

_A rooftop_

 _in Hell's Kitchen,_

 _the next night._

"Alright, Joe. You got three seconds to tell me where these kids are or else you're gonna be roadkill. Got it?"

Frank leered over the edge of the building. A heavyset man clutched onto the edge for dear life, eyes wide in terror. His fingers wouldn't be able to hold for long.

"I can't tell! The Sin-Eater knows all! He has decided they are to die! They must be punished!"

Frank scoffed. "The _Sin-Eater_?"

"He is my master!" Joe blurted frenziedly. "He knows all! They must pay for their fathers' actions!"

"Look. These are innocent kids. He took 'em from a preschool and hid them somewhere for no earthly reason. Now, you ask me, it sounds like he's the one to pay, not them. Only ones responsible for their parents' actions are their parents." He crouched down until he was face to face with Joe. "Come on, man. Tell me where he is...last chance."

Joe still shook his head.

Frank huffed in agitation. "All right, then." He unholstered a pistol from its thigh holster, chambered a round, and fired.

The bullet whizzed past Joe's head, missing him by the narrowest of margins. The ear splitting sound rang out like thunder, and Joe lost his grip on the building. He plummeted down, story after story, until finally he hit the ground with a sickening _thud_.

Frank looked down at the carnage. "Jesus."

A few minutes later he was down on the ground, standing over Joe's body. Searching his blood-spattered pockets, he found a variety of things - handwritten notes, pictures, and even a cell phone.

There were three notes:

1). _Once I give you the go ahead, go to this address._

2). _Wait thirty minutes, then go up to the front door._

3). _Once you're there, call the number I dialed on your mobile._

Snatching up the note with the address on it, he splayed out the pictures. They were all of the preschoolers, and a lot of them were taken with their parents. Scribbled all over them in red were things like "CORRUPT" and "MOB SCUM" and "MUST PAY!"

Frank shoved them in the inside pocket of his coat. Opening the cell phone, he saw it was on the dialing page, with a number already in the phone.

"Hah," laughed Frank to himself. "I'll catch this scumbag in the act. I swear, these goons don't got half a brain on 'em nowadays..."

The drive to the address in the notes wasn't terribly long. It was an old, condemned police station with boarded windows - a sight that gave even Frank an uneasy feeling. Around this part of town there were many buildings like this, but for whatever reason, he felt extremely on edge. He quickly scouted the place out - there was only one door that wasn't boarded up. In fact, the door itself had been ripped off its hinges, and it lay discarded on the ground next to the threshold. Frank peered inside, seeing a single light on deep inside the station. That, he reasoned, must be where the kids are.

Taking the phone out, he opened it and pressed the CALL button.

* * *

 _Several minutes earlier._

"Alright, bub, what do you want THIS time?"

Logan stood at the door of the X-Mansion, glaring down at Stanley the trenchcoat man, who had just arrived. Stanley approached him with wide eyes and a desperate look on his face.

"He's got my kid, Wolverine, my kid!"

Logan did a double take. "Do what? Your kid? Where? Who?"

"The Punisher. Frank Castle. He's got 'em locked in an old abandoned police station, down in Hell's Kitchen. He said to be there in five minutes or else he's blowing the whole place. You gotta help me!"

"Wait. You said _them._ Does he have others?"

"I think so...I don't know..." Stanley began hyperventilating. "Please, Wolverine, please help me..."

Logan threw a look inside. "Hank, I got somewhere I gotta go. Okay? Stay here and look after the place. Please."

Stanley heard a voice inside say, "If you insist, Logan. You sure you don't need help?"

"Yes, Hank, I'm sure. Thank you. I'll be back in a little while." Logan snatched up a leather jacket and threw it on, running behind Stanley to his car. Attempting to question him further, Logan inquired, "Why is he after your kid - "

"I don't know!" Stanley shouted at the top of his lungs, speeding through traffic like a madman. "I don't know I don't know I don't know - "

"Can you slow down just a little?" Logan growled, the force of Stanley's swerving throwing him around like a rag doll. "For God's sake - "

"We're almost there! Almost there almost there almost there - "

At last they pulled up to the station. Logan jumped out of the car, as did Stanley.

There he was.

Frank Castle, in the very flesh.

He was standing on the left side of the building, looking inside. He held a cell phone in his hand, and as he raised it up to face level, he saw them both.

An icy feeling ran down Logan's spine. He felt his face growing hotter and hotter, and his claws were out before he could even realize it. But then another sensation overcame him - his sense of smell. He could smell something inside, something that made his blood run cold.

"Oh, no, no no no no - CASTLE - "

It was too late. Frank pressed a button on the phone, and in an instant the station was overtaken by a mammoth cloud of flame, brilliant orange, that knocked him off his feet. The heat wave struck him like a train, and he could only lay there and scream over and over and over again. Stanley had fallen behind the car, and Logan could not see his reaction, but he knew that whatever he was feeling, the poor guy must be having it a million times worse.

Frank Castle had just killed children - innocent children - as a part of his vendetta.

Logan rose to his feet, slowly, taking in the situation fully. Stanley got up as well, limping over to him and sobbing wretchedly.

"My - my son - my son - is - is gone - "

"It's alright, Stanley," Logan said roughly, eyes still locked on the inferno, which had turned black with smoke. He could hear sirens in the distance, and he knew that if he had any chance of catching Frank, he could not afford to wait around for them.

"Stay here, Stanley," he said, prying the poor man off of him. "Wait for the police and tell them everything, even about your friend. They'll need to know. I'll be back."

"Wh-where are you going?" Stanley asked.

"To catch Frank."


End file.
